


Rain on my Parade

by Semebay



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semebay/pseuds/Semebay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nations are at a particularly hot meeting. England decides the North American Twins are going to go out and perform a rain dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain on my Parade

**Author's Note:**

> Original Publication Date: January 17, 2010
> 
> No idea what goes into a rain dance. Took the (like, two sentences) from this site: http://www.inquiry.net/outdoor/native/dance/rain_zuni.htm   
> Rain Dance of the Zuni, if anyone's interested. And no, I doubt Canada's people would know it. Highly improbable. But hey, why not?

France's moan was the first warning that things were about to go horribly wrong.  
  
The moan was not lecherous, despite England's jerky motion to move his chair away from the man.  In fact, it was almost pained. When Germany looked over slowly, the Frenchman was peeling a strand of hair away from his sweat-covered face and moping, much like a kicked puppy. Germany wanted to protest the fact that France had removed all articles of clothing while everyone else had simply loosened their ties, but arguing in this heat seemed like such a challenge. After all, motioning with his arms had made the man realize exactly how bad the heat was; he had felt exhausted after curtly telling Italy to "wait until break to go eat pasta" and waving his hand for the man to sit back down in his chair.  
  
"I suggest we move the meeting to England," France said, and a pair of rather large eyebrows shot up to hide under England's hairline. "At least if the weather is too hot, we will be able to go outside and drown ourselves."  
  
England's eyebrows narrowed threateningly, but his thirst for blood was not to be sated; he wasn't about to leave his seat to throttle the man, no matter how tempting it was to unstick himself from his chair. A quick glance around the room showed him that many of the other nations were thinking along the same lines as him. Russia had removed his large coat (but kept the scarf, fucking idiot); Spain had fallen asleep on the table, and a small puddle of drool was beside his head; Italy was complaining about the lack of pasta, while his older brother glared daggers at their host nation, Amer-  
  
 _America._  
  
England looked towards the nation. He was on his blasted iPhone, doing something with it under the table and ignoring the speaking nation (whoever the hell it was).  
  
"America!" England barked, and America looked up with wide eyes, his glasses sliding down his nose. He pushed them back up, looking much like a child found doing something he shouldn't as he shoved his iPhone out of sight in his pocket. "Where the hell is your brother?"  
  
The was a noise of utter indignation and England looked up at the speaking nation. "Oh. Well, good. You're already up."  
  
"Why'd you have to ask me where he was?" America demanded, already sliding his phone back out of his pocket with a scowl.  
  
"Both of you, get outside. Make some rain. Your people do that."  
  
Both North American nations stiffened. America narrowed his eyes, his glasses sliding down his nose once more.  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
"You'll get outside now, you sodding git, because you're the one that supplied us with a defective meeting room."  
  
"Not gonna happen."  
  
Apparently, it _was_ going to happen. Soon enough, both twins found themselves tossed out the window, shirtless and covered in body paint ( _where_ France had kept it, they didn't want to know). England and France had called a temporary truce in favor of forcing (and unclothing) the young nations to get the hell outside, and England locked the windows.  
  
"Now get us some rain."  
  
"Fuck you," America repeated, but he stopped at the sound of a clip being loaded into a weapon. Switzerland had taken his post at one of the windows, and he aimed at America carefully.  
  
"Dance," he ordered. "Now."  
  
Canada gaped as Switzerland watched, then he looked over. "I think we should probably...ehh..."  
  
"Right," America said quickly as Switzerland repositioned the rifle (again, where the _fuck_ were they hiding those things?!), and he stepped forward with his left leg, his brother mirroring the movements as he switched legs and chanted something.   
  
"Can't you hurry the hell up?" England demanded. "It's fucking hot."  
  
America grit his teeth and continued to chant, resisting the urge to pick up the large rock (or the motorcycle) that he saw nearby and throw it through the window.  He heard Switzerland take the clip out of his gun, and was about to stop, but then he heard it being reloaded.  
  
"Other one was pellets," Switzerland explained to his confused little sister. "I thought that bullets would be more effective if they stopped."  
  
Both twins sped up.  
  
And then there was thunder.  
  
England's face lit up (from a glare to a scowl), and he looked up at the darkening sky. The brothers looked surprised, and than it started to rain.  
  
Kinda.  
  
"Open the window!" America shouted as he ran for the building, Canada close behind. The rain was actually hail, and torrential at that. When England was too slow at unlocking the window, America didn't even think about it; he jumped through it.  
  
Glass went everywhere, the nations inside revived enough by the suddenly cool air to jump away from the window as Canada followed his brother, fleeing the large lumps of ice. He, luckily, hadn't gotten hit too terribly (America had a golf-ball shaped lump on his forehead, and was glaring daggers at England; the Brit, in turn, had a smug look on his face).  
  
"Fuck you guys, I'm going home." America grabbed his papers and left (Canada did the same, but no one noticed).  
  
"Well, this is better," England mused.  
  
\--------- Next Day ---------  
  
"This weather is a bit aggravating," France admitted. "I wish it were warmer; I could go swimming, watch the fine ladies in their bathing suits, get a tan-"  
  
"Fuck you," Canada grumbled. It had taken him a few hours to completely rid himself of the body paint, and Kumajirou had gotten covered in blue the day before; he had barely gotten an hour of sleep after the ordeal, not wanting the bear to cover everything in it.  
  
"Yes, it was nicer when the skies were clear," England agreed with France for the second time in his life (the first being the rain dance of the twins). He was staring out the window, and suddenly he jumped up. There was a crash outside, and he gaped.  
  
"M-my car!" he gasped. A large piece of hail had crashed through the window, and America took a break from glowering at him to laugh. Loudly.

 

 


End file.
